Brave, Anyway

Tag: family

  • Lingering Disappointment

    Lingering Disappointment

    You should never ever tell me how you voted. This is the conclusion I’ve come to. In order for us to coexist peacefully or for me to not be disappointed in you, I cannot know that you voted for a candidate who would not support my daughter. I cannot know that you voted against my daughter.

    I logically know that no one voted against Audrey. In fact, I’m one hundred percent positive that she never crossed your mind as you voted. And yet, she’s one of the two most important people in my life, so I cannot do anything – especially vote – without her at the forefront of my mind.

    As a cancer survivor, it’s incredibly important that Audrey always have health care. I’m a believer that health care is important and necessary for all people, but it’s truly critical that those among us who have battled or who are battling serious diseases or conditions receive care from childhood into adulthood. That means the parents of the most vulnerable need access to affordable health care and coverage, and that those kids who are the most vulnerable have access to affordable care and coverage as they move into adulthood.

    Maybe Audrey will be waiting tables when she’s 26, trying to finish grad school or medical school or law school. Maybe she’ll be an artist or a missionary or fixing cars. Whatever she wants to do, whatever she’s called to do, she will need access to health care. Which means she likely needs to be a cube dweller (and maybe not focusing on her calling), working in a job that doesn’t need advanced education, or she needs some form of the ACA to be in place.

    I want my child to have the same access to health care as anyone else’s child. Not only is she deserving of that as a human being, she fought very hard for life.

    So we can disagree on things like the second amendment, climate change measures, and taxes – but we cannot disagree on health care without me harboring a grudge against you and wondering if you really care about Audrey. Because no matter why you cast a vote for a candidate, I see your vote against Audrey.

    And maybe that’s not fair and maybe it’s mean. But it’s how I feel, and it feels good to give it a voice. I am longing for the day that America is a country where health care is not a partisan issue. Because sometimes I feel like West Virginia in the 1860s.

    How It Started and How It’s Going
  • What is Great?

    What is Great?

    I want America to be great. But sometimes that’s hard to even visualize when I look at where we are today.

    What does great even mean? That word has been co-opted by people wearing red hats and I’m not even sure that the majority of them can define the greatness we used to have that we supposedly need to get back to.

    Does great mean when we had prayer in schools? I think that’s what a lot of well-meaning Christians are holding on to. Prayer in schools is the panacea for drugs, pregnancy outside of marriage, respect for elders, vandalism, anger, and a thousand other things. But it’s not prayer in schools that’s going to fix those things. It’s prayer in our homes. In our cars at a stop light. In line at the market. And most importantly, in our hearts. “Prayer in schools” as the reason America has gone to hell in a hand basket is such a cop out – if you really want to point fingers, the end of prayer in schools began when we largely gave up on prayer in our homes and in our hearts.

    Does great mean before Roe v. Wade? Because abortion wasn’t invented in the twentieth century. It’s been around since the beginning of time, in the form of herbs and bloodletting and a dozen other precarious methods. And if Roe v. Wade is overturned it will still be around and practiced just as it is today, and just as it was before that Supreme Court decision – managed by individual states.

    Does great mean when women couldn’t own a home without a man’s signature? When men had a lot more “say” in everything? Or perhaps great refers to the time before Brown v. Board of Education or before the civil rights movement? Or does great mean before the immigration of people from non-white nations? Or maybe great means when the number of young people signing up to join the military was higher, when we were in the Cold War or just after September 11? I am a child of a veteran, I support our military, and tears still fill my eyes every time I see families waiting on piers for loved ones to come home. But sometimes I wonder if we are really a country that loves our military (wouldn’t we pay them more if we did?), or if we are more of a country of people that just loves to rally around a conflict and that live vicariously through the young people kicking some ass somewhere out there.

    I’ve yet to hear anyone who wants America to be great “again” define it in a way that makes sense to me, except for the people solely focused on money. And while I don’t agree on trickle down economics and tax cuts for wealthy people, at least they are real about their motives and I can respect that.

    I want America to be great. Not “again” though, because I think maybe it hasn’t ever been great for a lot of Americans. It’s been great for me, but I’m white and didn’t grow up in poverty or oppression. Part of being a good human, and part of being a good Christian for those of us that are people of faith, is not just caring about self. It’s also recognizing when other humans need help and providing that help if possible. And perhaps most importantly for today, it’s recognizing when other humans are discriminated against – by authority figures, by neighbors or colleagues, by laws and by systems – and standing against that. Setting WWJD aside, we should all be concerned about discrimination in any form against any American because history has taught us over and over again that if we allow discrimination against anyone, we risk being discriminated against as seasons change.

    As far as I can tell, “Make America Great Again” is about loving your neighbor if your neighbor looks and loves and prays like you, but sends cursory thoughts and prayers to everyone else. It’s a way to hide behind canned talking points because of motives surrounding faith and race and gender we don’t want to acknowledge, let alone speak about.

    Maybe this election cycle is more vicious and divisive because of who walks the halls of the White House and Capitol, maybe it’s because we’re actually at a tipping point morally, maybe it’s because we’ve all been quarantined and are just cranky and combative, or maybe it’s a combination of all of it. But I’m so tired of it all. I’m tired of “good” people – Christians especially – perpetuating the self-serving and idiotic belief that real Christians vote red and actively participating in or turning a blind eye to all the discrimination in this country. People are supposed to see Jesus through us, and we’re supporting and pointing them to politicians and programs and systems that do not reflect the love with which we are supposed to be filled.

    I’ve been reading Jesus for President by Shane Claiborne. I love how he characterizes the job of the disciples: “It wasn’t a call to take the sword or the throne and force the world to bow. Rather, they were to live the contagious love of God, to woo the nations into a new future.”

    I want America to be a place where all my neighbors – especially our nation’s veterans and children and elderly – have food and shelter and medicine. I recognize that’s a bit of a pipe dream given our current financials but is that so much to ask that we work toward? Why would those basics even be tied to one political party instead of core tenets of all political parties? I don’t care if your shirt has a donkey or an elephant on it, I have and will vote for you if you can show me you believe in the equality of all people, that you haven’t purposely mistreated people, and that you have empathy for people not like you.

    We have to stop being afraid of one another, of differences. We have to catch and stop when deeply rooted beliefs of favor or better rear their ugly heads in our hearts. We can love, and are called to love, our neighbor regardless of how different they are so that people see love through us, regardless of whether we are a Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Jew, or Hindu.

    If we allow ourselves to continue to buy into canned talking points and excuses, which we tell ourselves and others to make us feel better, we will never actually work to make anything great. We need to start accepting responsibility for all the beliefs and generalizations and fears that we secretly harbor about people who are not like us, for all that we’re voting for, for all that we’re voting against, and for all we’ve been allowing.

    Sydney Ellen Wade, played by Annette Benning in The American President, said exactly how I’ve been feeling for months and maybe years: “How do you have patience for people who claim they love America, but clearly can’t stand Americans?”

    Our vote is never just for a policy we’re passionate about, it’s for the whole person whose name we choose. No matter our choice, some things about that person will be good and some will be bad. But we can’t say we’re voting just to save unborn babies or for health care, and think that absolves us of responsibility as it relates to supporting the character and integrity of the person we chose.

  • Six Months into Quarantine

    Six Months into Quarantine

    On the last day of real life, six months ago today, I ate pizza at a restaurant with some of my favorite people. I miss them. Critical commentary and witty banter in person feels like family. Critical commentary and witty banter via Zoom feels like maybe we’re mean.

    For days I will eat a bagel, some pickles and cheese for lunch, and maybe a bowl of cereal and a mini Hershey bar before bed. Then one day I will consume ten thousand calories within a few hours – chicken biscuit, a box of Gobstoppers, pizza, fries, banana cream pie from the Cheesecake Factory. I will get a tummy ache and promise myself and God I will never ever eat that way again if I can just go to sleep and feel better. But about 10 days later I will in fact do it again. I cannot seem to stop this cycle.

    This household consumes ketchup at the rate of 38 ounces every 6 days. It is more precious than milk, bread, OJ, and maybe even toilet paper.

    John Cusack should not play a serious serial killer. Just stop it, Netflix. He’s supposed to be holding up boom boxes and kissing girls that are like us. Grosse Point Blank is an exception because the government made him do it AND because he kissed a girl that could have been us.

    I let my teenager go on a double date to the roller rink. All kids were driven there by parents. All kids were in a public place at all times. All kids were wearing masks at all times. COVID dating simplifies some things for parents.

    I have a thousand and one complaints about virtual school. I’m not sharing a single one. Teachers are busting their butts and stuck in the same crappy situation as all the rest of us – but they also have to try and teach with few resources and sketchy leadership. I desperately want my girls to go back to school and learn face to face, and at the same time I am terrified of the risk involved.

    I am not going to be one of the first half a million people to get the vaccine. That’s a Stephen King novel just waiting to be written.

    Occasionally I’ll get a little brave and venture out, but then I end up spending the next 14 days holding my breath a little. Vacation was great, getting my hair cut and colored was great, getting a pedicure was great…but I’m not sure it’s worth the late night thoughts that bombard my brain or the slight tension that rests in my shoulders the couple of weeks following.

    Every time I start to worry about sickness and events outside of my control, I try to remind myself that evidence of miracles walks around my house daily. I snapped this picture of Audrey a couple weeks ago and I keep coming back to it. She’s got a little Wonder Woman stare combined with maybe a Drew Barrymore Firestarter moment. Her expression is so focused. And fierce.

    September is Childhood Cancer Awareness month.

    My favorite quarantine purchase is an In Our Prayers display. It’s a visual reminder and a method to communicate who and what is on our hearts. Right now every single one is related to family: blood family, church family, work family.

    I am watching too much news. This has resulted in my firm belief that there is no revelation or story or coverage that is going to sway votes for or against Trump at this point. Supporters of his will not believe them. He said it himself years ago and it’s an absolute truth – he could shoot someone on Fifth Avenue and still get votes. The case involving the President and E. Jean Carroll and the Justice Department is the news story that has me the most frustrated right now: DOJ to represent Trump. The president denies knowing his accuser and is being asked to provide a DNA sample as part of the case, which is pretty standard. His DNA, that could prove he’s telling the truth and she’s lying, is the thing he’s trying desperately not to provide. Why aren’t more people asking why is that?

    The longer I’m out in the world less and at home more, the less faith I have in humanity. Especially if I spend any time on Facebook or Twitter. I need to get out to see the good in people. Online, it’s too easy to judge solely based on what they copy and paste and share. And yet, I guess that is who they are. It’s all so confusing.

    Regardless of what some people might say in rally speeches or tweets, I’m voting Democrat but I am not trying to lock anyone in their homes, fire all police officers, overturn the second amendment, fighting to keep churches closed, or thinking we shouldn’t be allowed to say God in America. I’m just a girl, standing in front of the TV watching a boy, who’s not doing a very good job at his job.

    I have peaceably protested. I have never been a participant in looting or destruction (unless you count that time we spray painted the train overpass in college). I think the destruction of property is wrong, it works against trying to get people to see your “side,” and it distracts many from the core issue. And yet at the same time I get why some people are doing it. Sometimes frustration builds and builds and builds over months or years or a lifetime and then it bursts out. Maybe if we didn’t view equality and fair treatment of all people as an issue that has sides, we wouldn’t be dealing with these explosions.

    I don’t know if this is real or photoshopped, but it doesn’t matter. It sums up how I feel about several situations in the world right now.

    This world lost a pretty great human a week ago. Her name was Alicia. We went to Emory & Henry at the same time and we graduated together. She was fierce and passionate, she had a huge heart and an old soul, and she spoke truth verbally and in writing. She stood up for people regardless of what others would think of her. About a year ago, we were both having “a day” on the same day and I picked up my phone and dialed her number instead of sending a message. I hadn’t heard her actual voice since 1995 but it seemed like no time had passed since the last time. We laughed about old times and current times, we man-hated, and we traded Momma stories. The time talking was the hug I needed, and I hope she felt the same way. I am so thankful I made that call, and I have a feeling she’s looking out for us from that great cloud of witnesses while slyly making mischief and casting some spells by request.

  • Blessings in Formica

    Blessings in Formica

    Back in 1946, when my Mom thinks my great Aunt Jean and Uncle Dale got this formica table, I’m certain they never imagined that almost 75 years later their great great niece Audrey (Little Bit) would have this thing called a laptop sitting on it, and would be using it as a desk for virtual school during a pandemic.

    Blessed are those who came before us, who are now in our great cloud of witnesses cheering us on, who prayed and established roots and set examples, and who even bought or built or made things so that their families – and their children and their children and their children – might rely on the strength of what they established.

    And I saw for the first time how, despite the isolation of our own lives, we are always connected to our ancestors; our bodies hold the memories of those who came before us, whether it is the features we inherit or a disposition that is etched into our soul. Alyson Richman

    For the over 50 years that it sat in my great aunt and uncle’s kitchen, this table heard countless prayers and graces.
  • Perfection Redefined

    Perfection Redefined

    With the exception of Mary, I don’t think I’ve even once thought about the women in Jesus’ family tree. What a horrible thing to be true about a Christian and a feminist.

    But a few weeks ago I came across an artist named Tricia Robinson, and was really moved by her work and especially her words about The Four.

    Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba have something in common. They are grandmothers in Jesus’ family tree. Some were prostitutes, involved in affairs, some lied and were truly not the starry-eyed perfect princess. But God chose them…these four broken women. And that’s why I gave them crowns. A symbol of grace and love from our Creator and Redeemer.

    The Four, by Tricia Robinson

    I knew the stories of these women, but it never occurred to me that they were part of the lineage of Jesus. And it struck me that I have harbored a secret belief that all the people in His family were and are people who meet a high standard of perfection.

    I know that I can lean toward perfectionism and I thought I had identified all the thought patterns that needed redirection, until my reaction when I saw this artist’s work and her words. The bad and the ugly is that I still expect perfection of myself, and that’s not an attainable goal.

    I am very disciplined about setting realistic goals at work, but I am not-so-disciplined in my personal life. Particularly as it relates to setting realistic expectations of myself in my most important job: mom. I guess maybe a lot of moms fret about whether or not everything they say and do is enough, but I really feel that weight more in the last few years because my girls need and deserve a parent who is focused above all on them and who sets a good example.

    I may not be out sleeping around, but I certainly drop F bombs and can get my judge-y on. Translate: I’m far from anyone’s definition of perfection, including and especially my own.

    I also love the words of Ann Voskamp, which Tricia Robinson shared in her packaging with the print:

    Four broken women – women who felt like outsiders, like has-beens, like never-beens…women who didn’t fit in…And Jesus claims exactly these who are wandering and wondering and wounded and worn out as His.

    I feel like an outsider regularly. Depending on where I am, I may be the Christian who’s not a Republican, the Mom who asks uncomfortable questions of other kids’ parents, the one who won’t come to something if I can’t bring my girls with me, or the opinionated divorced lady who makes people uncomfortable because I am not afraid to stand up for myself or to encourage women to stand up for themselves. I’m a girl who doesn’t care about hair and make-up. I’m not a “single-pringle” looking for fun, but a woman committed to peace. And I’m not good at keeping up with friends and I don’t go on girl trips because in my non-working hours I hang out with my girls, cook with my father-in-law, or yell at the news and my Twitter feed.

    I am also wandering and wondering and worn out regularly. There’s a never-ending list of things I feel like I haven’t done (and that I actually haven’t done!). There’s a never-ending list of things I need to do with and for the girls, and that I need to teach them about and to talk to them about. There’s a never-ending list of things I’ve missed and of things that I never even thought about needing to cover until a situation arises and I think How did I not think about and plan for this conversation??? Which brings me back to: I’m far from anyone’s definition of perfection, including and especially my own.

    Maybe I should redefine “perfection” as simply doing the best I can. Because grace. But can I do that? Maybe it’s brave to accept a radical notion like my best is enough. Because grace. But is that crazy?

    As I was pondering it all tonight, Audrey fell off her bike and skinned her knees. I ran to grab the bin of materials to get her all cleaned up, and when I opened the gallon Ziploc bag of Band-Aids – which are the leftovers from dozens of boxes and themes we’ve had over the years – the one she pulled out said Brave.

    The family of Jesus is filled with imperfect people and followers. I’m one of them.